


Fevered

by geekmama



Series: Lost and Found [20]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-08
Updated: 2010-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:38:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little h/c (mostly c), sequelish to 'Lady Errant'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fevered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sequence_fairy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sequence_fairy).



Jack dressed quietly and went up on deck, leaving Elizabeth sleeping peacefully in his cot. Best thing for a fever, of course.

It was a clear, bright morning, a steady breeze, light swell, and the _Pearl_ was moving north at a good clip, seven or eight knots now, though it had been less earlier. He took the wheel, and as always, the feel of his beloved ship steadied him. Only briefly this morning, however. His mind kept drifting below, to all that had passed between him and his Lady Errant in the dim light of dawn…

*

Ghosting fingers roused him. Moving over his arm, the back of his hand, his hip, and finally—_blessedly!_—to his morning cockstand that seemed to have been lying snug against Elizabeth's leg. His eyes fluttered open as she wrapped Not-So-Little Jack about, lightly, almost too gently, and her gaze was dark meeting his.

"Hush," she whispered. "Close your eyes. Let me."

He gave himself over to her.

Her touch remained delicate. Maddening. She located the thick bead of moisture that had welled, and spread it with infinite care and disconcerting knowledge of where he was most sensitive. His heart thudded in his chest. His breath came increasingly short. But he lay quiet and still as he could, feeling, aching, his need building slow and steady, more, more… and yet…

He rasped one agonized plea: "Elizabeth!"

Praise be, she showed him mercy, drawing near, and he thought she smiled before she was too close to make out, but he only cared that she was bringing him (with surprising skill) right to the edge, and her whisper was warm against his lips—_Yes!_ His whole body stiffened, taut, trembling, and then he was groaning into her kiss as he spent, shuddering, choking, even whimpering toward the last of it, like some lovesick lad, undone, undone entirely.

Good God.

She held him as he softened, her forehead against his, save for the occasional kiss, her breath coming near as harsh as his own, at first. When he was more or less recovered, he opened his eyes to see hers bright with twin fevers.

Not unaffected. Oh, no.

"You, now," he promised, and brushed a brown finger over her cheek at the mounting color, the bitten lip.

He got up out of bed, made use of the _pot de chamber_ he'd installed in the cabin for her, wet a towel with fresh water from the ewer, and was back in a trice.

"You're cruel, making me wait," she murmured, eyes glinting.

"Patience, darlin'," he chided, sitting down beside her and uncovering her, slender and beautiful, pushing the bedclothes well aside. "Isn't that the lesson of the day? _Sauce for the goose_, and all."

Oh, yes. Two could play at that game, age old and ever new. She lay back, trying to relax, watching, her breath uneven as he cleaned away the evidence of his own surrender. He stashed the cloth and ran his hands down along her sides, savoring her lovely form. Placed his thumbs just so, on the soft white skin between hip and leg, and felt the steady, quickening pulse. She'd been ready from the start, of course – _not at all unaffected_ \-- but he very deliberately placed his hand over her, cupping her, then ran his thumb lightly over the scant curls that were already dark and moist along that tempting division, where she wanted, needed his touch.

Not yet.

"Let me!" he said, returning her own words to her, along with a wicked smile, and felt himself begin to swell anew, thinking of what he would do to her.

He moved up, settled close, and kissed her, taking satisfaction in the slight tremor that ran through her, and proceeded to make love to every inch of her, with hands and lips and tongue. Seeking. Finding. Listening to her gasp. Watching her head toss against the pillow as she tried to still herself. Watching her try not to writhe in exquisite torment. Her legs parted, and she drew her knee up and to the side, hopefully. Still he took his time—and the vial of scented oil from its niche in the carved headboard. Smoothed the golden liquid over her skin, kneading, slipping, and then penetrating, with careful thumb and forefinger, her openings both fore and aft, her eyes wide, then wider as he slid further in.

"Jack!" she breathed, startled, maybe horrified.

"Easy, love. It's good. Just _feel_." He was afire, too, hard as brass again, and aching with it.

But she obeyed, sinking back and lifting her hips slightly, accepting, trusting him. Her slight breasts rose and fell, the nipples deep coral and still moist from his attentions. Her fingers scrabbled, plucking, grabbing at the sheet on either side of her. Fully impaled, trapped by love, her body was hot, coiled, intent. And at last he used the fingers of his free hand to part those damp nether lips and bent to them, placing his own lips there—so slick, more than ready—tonguing her, then carefully suckling the swollen, sensitive flesh. He ignored her cries and her subdued struggling, and pressed inward, deep as he could, into the heat of her. She stilled, for a tortuous moment, then, accompanied by a strangled wail, she was flying apart. He held her as steady as he could for long, long seconds, there were more sounds, sharper ones, and oh, the _feel_ of her, pulsing, gripping… _beautiful_. He thought he would spend again, all untouched.

But he didn't, and was glad of it when the storm eased, when he gently withdrew from her body and heard the bereft whimper, so like his own had been, for she opened her eyes in wonder and lifted her arms, wanting him, needing him still.

He wasted no time in accepting the invitation, command, whatever it was. Crawled atop her, and she caught him once more, guiding him home with something like a sob. He took her, deep, again, again, short hard strokes, and she took him, too, her injury entirely forgotten, her limbs wrapped around him, her hips arching tight against his, her voice in his ears, his name, over and over, and it was no time at all, less than that even, before he was _there_, couldn't wait, and couldn't hold back his own cry, not for any treasure on earth.

*

She was coming slowly up the steps to the quarterdeck, wearing breeches and a shirt, hair brushed, feet bare. Her eyes were upon his, a shy delight lurking in their depths. But she didn't smile, and he didn't either.

What on earth was this? She was only a girl. How was it she stood fair to eclipse every other love he'd known? And was she aware of it? Did she know what a weapon she'd been given?

"How… how are you today?" she asked, coloring adorably as she approached.

Wanton, and sweet as summer. He was for it, no question. But his heart was strangely light, and his lip quirked. "Not sure, really. How are you?"

She cleared her throat, and it was a full blush now, her lips quivering as she replied: "Better."

She came to stand beside him behind the wheel, and slipped her arm around his waist, under his coat. Her head drooped to rest against his shoulder.

What could he do? "I'm better, too," he said, and kissed her burnished hair.

  
~.~


End file.
